Even the boundless are drawn
to a bounded-in place,
fence-finding, fence-marking
maps of the space a life is lived upon.
Your shout, her bark
were coordinates & confines,
dotted lines in the air
from B Street clear to Balboa Park.
Mapping not just preference
but your plans & her plans,
joyous & coincident
along seams of coreference.
She was probably looking for you
-- since she, after a fashion, loved you,
& you, after a fashion, loved what she knew of you --
even when she ran out of fence to run through.
Because only a boundless Hannah
could trace her own shape,
boundaries blindingly visible
as every place you ever visited together.
for Loren
14 June 2008